Chasing Serenity
by Not A Turnip
Summary: Chaos dreamed of Serenity for centuries within the Cauldron of Stars. But once she awakens, she is going to capture her prize. Manga-based.


Chaos dreamed of Serenity for centuries within the Cauldron of Stars. But once she awakens, she is going to capture her prize. Manga-based. The lines in italics are direct translations from the 18th volume. I don't own Sailormoon.

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Inside the Cauldron of the Stars, Chaos curls upon itself and dreams of Serenity.

Inside the Cauldron of the Stars, there is silence. Not the silence of absence, or the silence of expired life, but the silence of expectance. If it had a temperature, it would be similar to that of Tokyo in early May on sunny day, when lazy sakura petals tumble across the wind. If it had a color, it would be every color in concert, but predominantly gold, liquid and rushing. But if there were beings in the Cauldron of the Stars that had eyes to see, they could not, because in the Cauldron there is no light. And if those beings that had eyes to see also had hands to touch, they could not, because inside the cauldron there is no matter. The Cauldron of the Stars is not a place where mortal life can be sustained, though we all began there.

The Cauldron of the Stars is where starseeds, souls in the vernacular, burst into existence from the sea of Lambda energy and are assigned lives to live by the Cauldron Guardian. That is what there is in the Cauldron: Lambda energy unlimited and vibrant, newly born starseeds awaiting breath, the influence of the Cauldron Guardian, and a sense of atmosphere and color past sensual perception.

And, for a thousand years, there has been Chaos.

Ah, Chaos. Here it curls upon herself, smothered by Lambda into patience, and dreams. It dreams as it has for nigh on a millennium, of unity and moments past. It dreams of the cosmos spiraling wide arcs, a dizzy top spun by a child, its slumber representing a mere fraction of a rotation, blurred out of being when viewed from a long way off. The child giggles, clumsily knocking the top aside. It sputters and clacks on the pale marble floor, unwinding to a stop. It shifts uncomfortably.

And it dreams of her.

Inside the Cauldron of the Stars, Chaos curls upon itself and dreams of Serenity.

_Such power._

And that light. Her light. A light unlike its lack in the Cauldron, truly warm and truly golden, blessing all those it touches, filling them so that they want nothing but to love her and to serve her and praise her until the top settles and disappears. The longed-for, unattainable except by chosen match, yet tantalizingly close. Beautiful, she was then, even as she sealed Chaos here. So cruel and malevolent in her stance, her betrayal, yet so beautiful and so different. Who was this Eternal Sailormoon, to be its Serenity yet magnified? It was as if they would have to start at the beginning, stomachs queasy, introductions and conversations about the weather--the bread of mortals when they were meant to be so much more intimate. A quiet rage. Blurred time past measure has been lost here, gold and black diamond pattern resolving itself, distinct as its eyes readjust to the lack of motion. An internal rending at the force of her crystal.

_So you come here to throw your life into the Cauldron, and start a new star's history?_

We might be together in eternity.

_Or do you wish to live here as you are?_

The child idly spins the top between two fingers. The shadows thicken and snap. Darkness. Light. And it was there that the battle was lost.

_We would like to be what we are and live together._

And she lies yet while speaking true. She should be forgiven, she knows not what she does. Yet how could she not, being who she is? No, no, it was a most malicious rejection, that much is so clear from the elation that she radiates at being reunited with him and separated from it. In its dream, the child tucks the point of the top between her teeth and gnaws down. She is not to be forgiven. A rage builds in that longest of moments, an anger not to be surpassed.

Then a gracious, fleeting courtesy:

_Is Chaos...?_

Too late, girl. Too late. Thirty thousand years too late.

A prim reply, reality disregarded:

_Chaos melted into the sea of the Cauldron. It might be born again._

Will be born again. Will be. An outright lie on the part of the Guardian, lying to Serenity, to this moon girl. Chaos curls upon herself, waiting with the patience of one who knows their time is unlimited and their power boundless, and now with the patience of one who knows that opportunity is at hand. A thousand years were granted, a strain for it who had already given all of itself to the pursuit, but obeyed all the same. For Serenity's sake. Always, always for her bitter sake.

But soon, for its own sake, Chaos would take that possession which had long evaded it. Curl each pitch nail about her, wring out her mortal's blood so that in slavery they might find freedom together.

Indeed, inside the Cauldron of the Stars, Chaos curls upon itself and dreams of Serenity.

_This is where stars and hopes are born._


End file.
